


Bang a Gong

by AlleiraDayne



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, No spouse hate, Single Jared Padalecki, Single Me, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-15 03:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18065801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: Once upon a time, in November of 2018, I met Jared Padalecki at a Supernatural Convention.





	1. Lesson Learned

**Author's Note:**

> I started this piece for @spnkinkbingo and it turned into a giant series. Part II will fill a SPN Kink Bingo square, Coitus Interruptus. Assume all parties involved are single and no spouse hate!

 

In another minute, I’d have gone to bed.

In five minutes, I’d have passed out.

And in the morning, I’d have seen the post on Instagram and been pissed at myself all over again. 2016 might have repeated itself had I not learned my lesson the hard way that year.

Instead I sat in the chair at the desk of my hotel room, phone in hand, and flipped through every social media platform I had. I searched tags and pictures and an endless stream of fan accounts until I found that for which I willingly sacrificed sleep.

_#spnfamily @jarpad Jared and me @ Sneaky Pete’s!_

“Ugh, Sneaky Pete’s?! Really?!”

If you can’t tell, I’m not fond of that bar. Every time I’ve been there, someone starts a fight. Something about alcohol and open stripper poles enraging people.

But Jared was there. Though I desperately needed sleep, I wanted to meet him outside of the con. Just once. Just to get that sort of selfie with him. You know, blurry, half-drunk, overexposed, and hair in my face with his perfection right next to my hot mess. _That_ selfie.

The handle of the hotel door clicked before I realized I’d left my chair, tossed on my N7 hoodie, and shut off the lights.

“What am I doing?”

Silly question. I knew exactly what I was doing. Stalking a celebrity. Yup. Real healthy. I know. An endless tirade of chastising thoughts raced through my mind as I walked down the hallway to the elevator. An eternity passed while I waited, and twice I nearly turned back for my room. But when the bell sounded and a door opened, I darted in and smashed the button for the main floor.

In the lobby, I rushed to a side door and avoided any eye contact. If I had looked at anyone, they would know what I was up to. They would know I was leaving my hotel to go to a bar because a celebrity I wanted to meet was there and that I had stalked him on social media. They would know the second they looked at me, with my red cheeks and wide eyes. Yeah, she’s on a mission. A creepy fanatic’s mission.

The cold November air hit my face with such force, it sucked the breath from my lungs. Again, so lost in thought, I’d lost track of myself. It happens from time to time. I get so caught up in my brain, I forget where I am. Usually it's because I’m planning out another piece of writing, whether it’s my novel or fanfiction. _Better not think about that too much or your dumbass will end up telling him about it. If you’re even lucky enough to meet him…_

I scoffed loud enough to scare a dog and their human as I passed. Should have taken a Lyft. But nope. I had not plan that far ahead. Too impulsive. And by the time I got to the bar my feet screamed for relief, not because of the long walk, but because I’d been on them all day. Saturday at a Supernatural convention is long. The Saturday Night Special had been entirely worth it though. I’d never look at Rob Benedict the same way ever again.

At the door, I handed the guy taking cover a ten-dollar bill, and I barely heard him over the music as he asked for my wrist to stamp. Not that I paid him much attention either. I had a mission. Unfortunately, Minneapolis complicated finding a 6’4” brown-haired, broad-shouldered guy. Loads of men fit that bill there, what with the plentiful Scandinavian population.

Through the entry, I scanned the crowd as I headed to the bar on my right. To my left, stripper poles stood in a line on their platforms, every single one packed with far too many people. Though I laughed at the idea of Jared on a stripper pole in a packed bar, I knew better. He might be silly, but he sure as hell wasn’t dumb enough to do that in public.

With the bar three people deep, I forced my way to the front, a few well-placed elbows and crushed toes parting the throng. The bartender, a harried woman who tried to put on her best smile, took my order, ran off for a glass and the bottle of scotch, and poured my drink. I avoided eye contact again as two men—boys, really, they looked barely old enough to be in the place—on my right tried to get my attention with terrible pickup lines that involved my drink. Not that I could hear them. Bass deep enough to shake the building thumped terrible party music accompanied by terrible lighting and shitty vocals.

Did I mention I hate Sneaky Pete’s?

I emerged from the crowded bar and headed for the stairs, still scanning for a set of shoulders above the sea of heads. When I saw nothing of note, I took the stairs to the speakeasy basement to find it nearly dead.

Nearly.

A few booths sat occupied, couples and smaller groups that wanted to escape the insanity of the main level, music muted to a dull roar. An older man sat by himself sipping a drink at the end if the bar nearest me. And the bartender—a woman about my age—talked with him. She’d get an extra tip with that sort of attention.

With a sigh, I turned back for the stairs, but something out of the corner of my eye stopped me. I looked over my shoulder, then turned back around as I spotted them. At the far end of the bar sat two people, one with long brown hair, and the other bald.

You know, leading up to that point, I never thought it would happen. From the second I’d left my hotel room, I imagined getting to the bar, getting a drink, sipping it down as I walked through the place once, maybe twice, then leaving.

But there at the bottom of the stairs I stared, dead-eyed, at Jared Padalecki.

At the back of his head.

Close enough.

My feet refused to move, though I desperately wanted them to. There were a great many things I wanted to do. But for the life of me, in that first moment, I balked. And it wouldn't be the last time. I damn near ran back up the stairs and out the front door.

But then Clif nudged Jared and pointed my way. He turned and spotted me, and Christ, I'll never forget that smile or his awkward wave. I'll never understand what about him then had managed to ease my nerves, but he had, and one foot stepped in front of the other until I passed him.

“Hey, Cliffy.”

Jared cackled as Clif leaned from his stool and hugged me. “She clearly knows the rules.”

“Get in good with the body guard, right?” I said as we parted. When I turned to Jared, I managed to keep my shit together as he hugged me in turn. “Nice to meet you. Again.”

Parted, he asked, “Were you here last year? What’s your name?” He motioned to the stool Clif had vacated.

By the end of this, you’re going to hate me. I hesitated yet again before taking a seat. “Jeanna,” I replied as I sat down. “And yes, I was here last year with my sister. We bought the very last J2 op Friday morning.”

“Well, then it was meant to be,” Jared teased. “Is that Jeanna with a G or a J?”

A long pull from my drink eased my nerves. That he even thought to ask that question set my heart racing “A J. We were J4 in that photo op. My sister is Jessica.”

“J4, I love it,” he said with a laugh. “So, how was the Special?”

“Rob kissed me,” I blurted.

Jared rolled his eyes, not missing a beat. “Rob can be a cheeky fucker sometimes,” he said. “How did he manage that?”

“They set up a sort of ‘pit’ area in the big aisles on both sides of the theater,” I said as I air-quoted. “A new friend and I stood the whole show. I got some amazing pictures.”

“You’ll have to show me after you get them cleaned up,” Jared insisted. “Twitter?”

“I’d love to…” I started as I looked around the bar. The conversation had started so well and had continued so easily, buy my confidence slipped. It was too good to be true. I had missed something, a sign or a phrase. Clif would escort me away any second. “I’m sorry, I should probably leave you alone. I don’t want to take up your personal time. You’ll be up to your eyeballs in fans tomorrow, and I’ll see you plenty then anyway—”

Before I slipped from my stool, Jared reached out with an unsteady hand but stopped short of touching me. “You don’t have to. You’re not bothering me. Not like there’s a million people trying to get my attention.”

I eased back onto the stool as I thought. I had imagined meeting Jared in public on occasion. But that simple fantasy usually consisted of a short greeting, getting that selfie, and then being on my way. Never in a million years would I have guessed that I’d have him all to myself for a personal conversation. “Are you sure? I mean, like I said, I’ll see you all day tomorrow. I’m in VIP, I have your solo photo op, I have your meet and greet—”

“You bought all that?” he asked.

“Damn straight I did, I love—”

Yeah, I usually say I love Jared Padalecki. But not to _his ridiculously gorgeous face._ “I uh… you’re my favorite.”

I’d tell you that Jared blushed when he regarded his beer, sipped from it. But the dimly lit bar masked his face in angular shadows so dark, I’d never know. “It’s okay, Jeanna,” he started. “You’re my favorite, too.”

“Wow. Thanks,” I retorted as I sipped from my drink. “I get it, I made it weird. Don’t rub it in. I’m not exactly… it’s not every day I get meet someone like you.”

Jared laughed through his nose as he spun the bottle of his beer on the bar between his thumb and middle finger. “Not many celebrities in the Twin Cities?”

For a moment, I stared at him, unsure of what to say. When he stared back with his easy smile and perfect hair curled behind his ears, I understood. “You are probably aware of this, but, you’re not just some random celebrity, Jared. You’re… you’re an incredibly important person to me. To a lot of people. Your compassion and empathy for people knows no bounds. You’re so selfless, I don’t know how you do it. I’d be exhausted all the time.”

Jared’s smile fell and I resisted the urge to scream, to take it all back the second the words were out of my mouth. Too late, Jared capitalized on the moment. “I appreciate your honesty,” he commented. His hand moved for my shoulder once more, but as before, he hesitated. “I’m… flattered to have had such a positive impact on people’s lives.”

“Good,” I stated, “you deserve it.”

I could have died a happy woman right then and there as Jared smiled in the wake of my words.

If I told you everything we talked about that evening, you'd have a novel on your hands, and a boring one at that. Sure, we flirted here and there, but I quickly understood that Jared was the type of person who truly meets people. He wants to learn everything he can about them before parting ways, take something profound, new, defining with him when he leaves. I told him about things I never imagined I would have—including my ideal final season for the show, complete with angels, demons, monsters, sex (not with monsters), love, and for once, a real shot at peace. Retirement. On a beach somewhere in Texas with a cooler full of Margie. As much as he liked the idea, he confirmed my suspicions. Sam and Dean’s story does not end on a beach with girlfriends (or angel boyfriends) and a cooler full of Wisconsin's fictional pride.

It was one o’clock before I even thought to check the time. We had talked for two uninterrupted hours. And as much as I wanted to stay, I needed to be back up at seven for my much-anticipated Sunday.

But before I said any sort of goodbye, I grabbed a napkin and my sharpie—always carry a sharpie with you at cons, just in case—and wrote down my number. When I slid it to him, Jared picked it up and squinted at it.

“I didn’t even have to ask,” he joked.

“Oh, gimme a fucking break, dude, you’re swimming in pussy,” I retorted.

With a crooked smile, he shook his head. “Not really. Do you think I do this,” he paused as he gestured between us, “all the time?”

“With that face and your body, I would,” I said. “Not to mention your heart and brilliant brain, too. You make conversation too easy.”

A distinct shade of pink slashed across his nose, distinguishable despite the dark shadows on his face. I waited for another witty retort, but nothing came. He simply stared at me, eyes searching mine with an intensity that rendered me speechless.

I had told Jared things about myself most people in my life did not know. And as I sat there, staring at him, I realized that Jared understood that. When he hesitated to touch me for a third time, I spoke. “Are you… scared?”

“Maybe a little,” he mused. “I can promise you, this isn’t something I normally do. Spending this much time with a fan… never struck me as a good idea.”

“And now that you have?” I asked.

Finally, his hand enveloped mine where it sat on the bar. “I'll say this. You’re a natural at meeting celebrities. You played it cool even though you were nervous. You talked to me like I was just… another person. And that’s incredibly refreshing.”

“You make it sound like most fans are cra—”

He shook his head, vehement in his disagreement. “No. You’re not. Ya’ll are amazing and generous and so full of love. I would never disparage any of you. Most engagements with fans, either at a con or out in the wild, are short or in a… sort of controlled or contained system. It’s kind of sterile. It sounds ridiculous when I put words to it, but there’s little margin for error and that’s intentional.”

“So, you’re saying it’s almost scientifically curated to go well,” I offered.

“Almost is the key word. There’s a reason Cliffy follows us everywhere,” Jared added with a coy smirk. “But more often than not, what we need is someone to take care of a crying fan because, if Jensen and I or any of the other cast had to handle that on our own every time it happened, we’d lose our minds.”

I recalled the first time I had met anyone from the show. “I thought I was going to throw up after I met Misha a couple years ago.”

Jared laughed his dorky cackle as he said, “Misha gets that reaction a lot.”

“He was all hands…”

“Oh, I am so sorry.”

“No, it was wonderful.”

Again, Jared cackled as if I’d said some sort of perverted innuendo. With his hand still on mine, he took it from the bar and held it. “See, that right there, that's... oh, how gross, I don’t want to say you’re ‘different’ and make this fucking weird. But… I don’t know, I’m not explaining myself very well.”

“I won’t let it go to my head,” I started, “But I think I get it. This’ll sound weird, too, and it might creep you out, but I’ve always imagined my personality was very similar to yours. I’ve always imagined that, at the very least, were we to have worked together on a set, we would have become really good friends.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jared started, “And it’s not weird. We could be friends.”

I tried. I wanted nothing more than to walk away from that night remembering the perfection of our conversation up to that point. But when disappointment contorted my smile, Jared saw it, and winced. When I started to talk, he spoke over me. “I didn’t mean it like that. We could be friends, sure. But…”

His voice trailed off as he thought, eyes listing to the bar. “But?” I asked.

“But I’m guessing at this point you were hoping for more than that.”

What constituted as “more”? Best friends? Friends with benefits? Long-distance lovers? “Look, I gave you my number as a hail mary.”

“What?”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, I couldn’t resist the joke. “It’s a sports term. Like, slam dunk or…”

He grinned as he said, “Ball handler?”

I never thought I’d ever hear my laugh mixed solely with Jared’s. But laugh we did, singing a song I wanted to play it on repeat forever. I had to drop another joke to hear it again, to commit it to memory. With my pithy line readied, I sucked in a breath between laughs and spoke.

Not a single word made it past my lips, for Jared’s landed on mine with such sudden insistence, I froze. His massive hand warmed my cheek, fingers slipping into my hair, and he pressed harder, as if to remind me of what he had done. It worked, but not how either of us had wanted.

I promise, I’ll make up for how ridiculously I behaved here. When I squirmed away from him, I hated myself. I ended the kiss as quickly as it had started, slipped from his arms and off the barstool to race to the stairs. He didn’t follow me. And I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to see the dejection on his face that I knew was there.

I was up the stairs and through the front door in seconds. I wasted no time heading straight back to my hotel, oblivious to the chilly November drizzle. Incessant ridicule ran through my head, berating myself for being rude, for being a bitch, for being just downright mean. And for passing up on spending a night with someone I knew that, without a doubt, would treat me with nothing but respect.

How fitting then that, when my phone rang, I answered it without thinking.


	2. Expensive Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared catches up with me at Kieran's.

“This is Jeanna.” 

“Do you always answer your phone that way?” 

Even over the phone, I could tell it was him. “I... force of habit.” 

“It’s cute.” 

My feet moved faster as I passed a large hotel on the corner. “Sure. Jared, why—"

“Where are you?” 

I told him. I don’t know why. But to this day, I am so grateful I did. “Just passing Loews.” 

“Go into Kieran’s, I’ll be right there.” 

Before I could protest, he hung up. I stared at the front door of the bar and, despite the chill in my bones and the disgust that sank to the pit of my stomach, I wondered. I wondered how many times Jared—probably with Jensen—had holed up in that dim Irish pub, hidden away from world, and shared a few drinks. I wondered if they stayed at Loews every time they were in town for the convention. And, disheartened, I wondered if they would ever come back. You see, it was decided that 2018 was the last year the convention would come to Minneapolis. And I realized then that that was why I had left Jared in a moment of vulnerability. 

So, I went into Kieran’s. By then, with closing time impending, the bar sat quiet. No music played. No glasses clinked. No bodies talked. In fact, the place was empty but for a few stragglers staggered in the dining area. When I spotted the bartender, her eyes brightened at a potential customer. I slumped into a stool at the bar, and before she could say a word to me, my head dropped into my arms. 

“Normally I’d ask you to leave since it’s so close to closing time, but you look like you need a drink.” 

“Please,” I mumbled into my arm. 

“What’ll it be?” 

“Long pour of Bowmore eighteen, neat.” 

When I didn’t hear anything, I lifted my head to find the bartender staring at me. “What?” 

“You okay?” she asked as she reached for the top shelf. 

“Nope.” 

She measured out an exceptionally long pour and handed me my glass. “Most people are celebrating when they order something that expensive.” 

“I’m celebrating the fact that I’m an asshole,” I said as I raised my glass. 

Before the bartender could respond, the front door of the bar burst open. I didn’t bother looking. But she did with a grin big enough to give her fandom away. 

“You know he’s famous, right? Actor on one of the best tv shows ever made,” I started. 

Her icy stare snapped to me as I said, “And I turned him down.” A sip of the brown liquor warmed my throat as the bartender continued to stare at me as though I had two heads. 

I expected all manner of responses from Jared. Rage, disappointment, dejection, sarcasm. But when I heard nothing, I turned around and found him standing three feet away, face still as stone. “I’m sorry.” 

Bewildered, I asked, “For what?” 

“I shouldn’t have done that without asking first,” he clarified. “I... assumed, and that was wrong.” 

Ugh. I thought I couldn't feel any worse, but I did. “Can you sit with me?” I asked. “You shouldn't apologize, I owe you one.” 

Without protest, Jared sat beside me. When I turned to him, I saw the bartender had not moved an inch. “Could you—” 

She turned away with a clipped, “Yup,” and headed for the far end of the bar. 

“You don’t need—” 

“No, Jared, I do,” I interrupted. “Please. I... I want this more than I’ve wanted just about anything in my whole life. And that's part of what scared me. I always thought I’d could have no-strings-attached sex with you and be completely indifferent to the fact that I might not see you ever again. But when the actual opportunity came up—first of all, the fact that it came up in and of itself is fucking ridiculous. I never imagined it actually would. Second, when it did, I realized that it did matter to me. Like, a shit ton.” 

For a long, uneasy moment, Jared stared, measured, scrutinized. Exposed, I felt like an open book to him, as if he could read every thought in my head without even trying. And then he spoke. “Come to Jacksonville with me.” 

I blinked once, then twice. “What?” 

“I’ll fly you out, you can hang out backstage,” he continued. “It’ll be fun.” 

“I... where will I stay?” 

Jared scoffed with an eyeroll that rivaled one of Sam’s. “With me, where else?” 

I promise I’m usually not so daft. But imagine it for a second. Imagine Jared asking you to come with him on the convention circuit. Or, if he’s not your cup, imagine Jensen or Misha, or hell, Rob, or Rich, or Matt, anyone of them, take your pick. What would you do? Sure, you say you’d jump at the chance. But if it actually happened, how fast do you think you’d comprehend the implications? Because, in that moment, the questions from the cast ran through my mind, the rhetoricals and suspicious glances, and just wait for social media to find out Jared invited some random psycho fan to— 

“Jeanna?” 

Of all the things to be concerned about, the one thing that bothers me most finally reared its ugly head. “We haven’t even... you don’t even know what I look like naked,” I whispered as I leaned in close. 

“I’m sure you look amazing,” Jared started as if that was a given, “But pretend for thirty seconds that I’m not some vapid actor obsessed with one-night-stands. You have my personal phone number.” 

I did. But that didn’t mean he’d answer when I would call. “What about after Jacksonville?” 

“You could visit me in Vancouver while we’re filming,” he suggested. 

“I have a job, you know,” I stated. 

“Quit.” 

Again, I reared back, caught off guard for the third time that night. “Just... quit? Upend my entire life to follow you around the country? Dude, I don't know if I even like you. I like the  _idea_  of you that I have in my head, but I don’t actually know you and you don’t know me.”

"Okay, you're right," Jared started with a nod, "That was impulsive of me. You should visit though. I really want to spend more time with you. You're brilliant and funny and stunning—"

"Stunning?"

Jared's face scrunched with a shake of his head. "Yeah. Please don't tell me you don't think so."

"I mean, I know I'm not half bad looking, I like how I look, but I wouldn't go with  _stunning_ ," I said.

He leaned in so close his breath warmed my cheek. "You're gorgeous. And I want to spend more time with you," he whispered. Then he sat back and added, "I mean, that's not why I want to spend more time with you. Our conversation at the bar was fantastic. Right? Did I miss something?"

When he fell silent, my narrowed gaze locked on his, searching for the right answer. Lost in his penetrating stare, I floundered, adrift in a sea of conflict. He sounded so damn genuine, so honest. But my fears held fast. "You hardly know me, Jared."

Jared slipped from his stool and grabbed my hand. “I would like to, though. Stay with me tonight and hang out with us tomorrow. Everyone will adore you, I promise, I can already tell you’ll fit right in.” 

Baffled, I gaped. “I can’t hang out backstage, that’ll look… no, I don’t need that sort of attention right now.” 

Jared sighed as his shoulders slumped. “I understand. But I still want you to stay with me tonight. Promise me you’ll stay.” 

“Wait.” 

His step towards the hotel door faltered as I pulled back on his hand. “What?” 

“I need to pay for my drink,” I grumbled as I reached for my wallet. 

“No, I’ll get it,” he interrupted as he waved the bartender over. From his back pocket he withdrew his wallet. “How much?” 

The bartender picked up my tab and handed it to him as she said, “Twenty-seven-fifty.” 

As Jared scowled at the paper, my mind raced, unable to decide what to do.

“What the fuck did you order?” 

I looked at my still very full drink. “I... wanted to get drunk.” 

He laughed as he said, “So, you got a long pour of the most expensive scotch in the book?” 

“No, they have Pappy and I wasn’t about to order that overpriced—wait, are you really getting on my ass about ordering expensive alcohol? We’re not even dating, and I didn’t ask you to pay for my shit.” 

He slapped a wad of cash on the bar then grabbed my hand again. “I would pay for an entire bottle of Pappy if it would make you happy." 

“Good luck finding one, you have to like, get on a list with the distillery and then it’s like a big fucking pissing match on who gets a bottle—” 

“ _Jeanna_.” 

“ _I know,_  I ramble when I’m scared!” I said as I slipped from the bar stool and grabbed my drink. 

“I’ve noticed. It’s quite endearing,” he said as he lead me to the door connected to the hotel lobby. “I want to invite you up to my room.” 

“But?” 

Jared sighed as he pushed through to the hallway. “But I want you to be comfortable. I don’t want to put you on the spot.” 

Now or never. With a deep breath, I steadied my racing heart. “I want to. Badly.” 

“We don’t have to—” 

“I know,” I interrupted. “I know without a doubt that you’ll respect whatever I want. But I’m not going to pass this up. Not like I nearly did half an hour ago.” 

He sighed with relief as the tension sagged from his shoulders. “Alright—do me a favor?” he asked as we neared the lobby door. “I sent Clif up when we got to the bar. Can you check if the lobby is mostly empty?” 

“I mean, I can check, sure,” I started, “But I just want it stated for the record that my tiny ass went ahead to protect you.” 

“You’re my hero,” Jared retorted as I pushed through the door with a laugh. 

The lobby lay empty but for a few staff at the desk near the main entrance. When I waved Jared through, he casually strolled in absolutely no hurry despite lacking any actual body guards. “Do you want fans to jump you?” 

“No—” 

“Then walk faster,” I insisted. 

He shuffled a step, mocking me with a silly face, then asked, “Do you dance?” 

At the elevator I pushed the button and gave him a sidelong glance. “What do you mean? Like clubbing? Because fuck that noise.” 

He doubled over with laughter as he explained himself. “No, you have a sort of dancer’s gate." 

When the elevator doors opened, I stepped on and asked, “Were you watching me walk?” 

He jabbed the button for the fourteenth floor with his thumb. “Maybe.” 

In a heartbeat the elevator had grown far too hot and my cheeks stung. “No,” I stated with a shrill crack in my voice. “Sorry, no, I’m not a dancer. I’m a martial artist.” 

“What?” 

I half-heartedly punched the air a few times. “You know,” I started, “martial arts. I’m a third degree black belt in taekwondo and I just started jiu-jitsu.” 

“Christ, remind me never to piss you off,” he mocked as the elevator slowed to a stop. 

Through the door, I scoffed as I mimicked kicking towards his head. “Sure, like I could take you.” 

Jared laughed as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and we wandered down the hallway. “I’m just teasing you.” 

“Tease me when we’re in your room,” I said before I thought to speak. 

“Oh, I can do that,” he mused, “if you would enjoy it.” 

Chills coursed through my veins, and I inhaled a deep clarifying breath to steady my spinning head. “I can’t believe I said that out loud, what the hell is wrong with me?” 

As we turned a corner, Jared replied, “You know we can just... hang out. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“I... let’s just get into your room first,” I started. “I imagine I’ll need a map to find the bathroom. Fuck, I need to take a shower in the morning and have none of my shit...” 

At his door, Jared squeezed my shoulder for reassurance. “I can take care of that. I’ll send a runner to your hotel.” 

Jared never struck me as the type to have people do things for him. “No, do not get me used to this... lifestyle. I won’t want to go back my plebeian ways after.” 

“Jeanna, it’s fine, it’s just your stuff,” Jared said as he unlocked his door. “You won’t be spoiled if someone brings the things you need.” 

I wanted to argue with him further on that, but when he pushed aside his door, I lost track of the thought. The suite sprawled from the door, a living room, dining room, full kitchen, and bedroom hallway bigger than most apartments. “Jesus Christ.” 

“It’s overkill,” Jared stated flatly as he motioned me inside. “I just need a place where I can sleep and shower.” 

“Okay, I have to see it,” I said as I strode down the hallway for the master bed and bath. 

Sure enough, a tub the size of a small pool took up most of the bathroom. My aching feet called out for a long hot soak, and I had half a mind to indulge them. That was, until strong hands grasped my shoulders and drained the tension from my sore back. Nimble fingers kneaded the knots at the base of my neck as his thumbs sought and soothed the sensitive spots along my spine. “What are you thinking about?” 

“If we’ll both fit in the tub,” I muttered. 

A bark of a laugh burst from his mouth. “I’m pretty sure four people could fit.” 

“Really?” I asked as I turned to him. His crooked grin rolled the first true rush of arousal between my thighs and the room spun. “Know anyone up to testing that theory?” 

“I can think of a few people,” he paused with a thoughtful look on his face, “but I think tonight, I’m gonna be a little selfish and keep you all to myself.” 

All to himself. Christ. The shock of realization, of understanding exactly what was about to happen sank to the pit of my stomach. I stood in a hotel room in the arms of one Jared Padalecki. 

And he was eyefucking the hell out of me. 

“Jeanna? Are you—” 

Jared’s muted whimper against my lips breathed life to reality. I had kissed him and was still kissing him when the lingering taste of liquor on his tongue swarmed my senses. My mind raced to keep up with every touch and sound and taste, pushed so far beyond its limits. Whether I fell into his arms on purpose mattered so little when he caught me, his massive hands grasping my ass. I’d known a few larger men in my time—compared to me, most men are huge—and not a single one them knew how to use that strength. 

Jared knew exactly what he was doing. 

The floor fell from my feet as he gathered me in his arms, lips still pressed to mine. Though unnecessary, my legs wrapped around his hips, and it was there that I finally felt him. As he carried me back to the bed, I had to make sure. A roll of my hips confirmed my suspicions. Above average. Thick. Dressed left, possibly center, although that might have been the good work of his Saxx underwear. 

When Jared parted from me, an unbidden whimper fell from my lips and I grasped his shirt. An amused hum sang though his nose as he said, “I'm not going anywhere.” Lips softer than sin trailed kisses along my jaw to my ear where he whispered, “What would you like to do?” 

“You.” 

I’d meant that in all honesty, but Jared laugh as he asked, “Where, darlin’. Show me.” 

Look, I know Jared played along. He’s a foot taller than me and weighs half again as much as me, if not more. But I like to think I caught him so off guard that I actually reversed him. He, at the very least, acted surprised when his back met the bed and I straddled his hips. Bless his heart. 

“We can start here,” I suggested. 

With his crooked smile, Jared devoured me, his hazel eyes drifting from mine. For a long moment, he simply looked; my hair, my lips, my… neck? His gaze lingered there until he rose and wrapped his arms around me. Safe, solid, his embrace enveloped every inch of my existence, smothered my senses until nothing but Jared existed. The warmth of his hands roamed my body as his lips returned to mine. All manner of lascivious sounds passed between us, but it was when his fingers slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, so warm on my skin, I shivered. 

“Nervous?” he asked, his lips against mine. 

“No,” I lied with a squirm as he gathered my shirt. With every exposed inch, my skin betrayed me in gooseflesh. I sought stability in his shoulders, his neck, his hair, my own hands searching for leverage. “Maybe. It's not like I prepared for this.” 

Jared, ever the opportunist, took that as his cue and my shirt floated to the floor, removed in a flourish. More than a tiny part of me wanted to hide, wanted nothing more than to cover all the imperfections and rolls and pasty skin. At least, I felt that way at first. But when I found Jared eyeing me as if he’d died and gone to heaven, and his hands returned to my skin, not one concern survived. 

“You’re stunning,” he sighed. “You know that, right?” 

A boring black bra, far too old to be worn any longer but too expensive to toss, snapped apart at the clasp when Jared flicked his fingers. “I don’t… Okay, you know what, I’ll just take the compliment.” 

“Oh, c'mon,” he chastised as he slipped the straps along my arms. “You’re so hot.” 

Confidence I'd rarely felt straitened my spine and pulled back my shoulders, posture immaculate. A flick of his wrist sent my bra sailing to the floor. 

“Fuck me,” Jared sighed, massive hands cupping my breasts. “Why do you even bother wearing a bra?” 

At that I stopped wasting time and gathered Jared's shirt at his hips. With one swift pull, it pealed over his broad shoulders and left him bare. “Well?” 

“Because of creeps that like to stare…” I drawled. My thought trailed into silence as I gaped without reservation at his chest. Like I said before, I’d been with my fair share of men, myriad in their physical form. But when I touched him, the firm muscles of his shoulders enthralled me. Slick with sweat, I smoothed his skin to his chest, where, with the slightest pressure, I pushed, and Jared lay back on the bed, his own hands settled at my hips. 

“You’re staring,” he said. 

How could I not? Every muscle etched into his skin, traced by my fingers as I branded him into my memory. When Jared spoke, my eyes returned to his, dragged away from the deep angles of his hips, and found his crooked smile. “I could look elsewhere. Would that make you feel better?” 

He opened his mouth to reply but whatever words he had readied died in his throat. A roll of my hips sucked the air from his chest with a long, high moan. A flash of lust brightened his wide eyes, and Jared moved swift as a cat, all patience fled as he unfastened my jeans. I did my best to keep up with him, but only managed as far as his belt before he flipped me back to the bed. 

He tore the sheets down beneath me, then quite unceremoniously stripped me of the rest of my clothing. Completely bare to him, I struggled to maintain any sort of confidence, resisting the urge to cover myself with the giant comforter on the bed. Not that I had to try very hard. Jared positively ogled me, a face I’d never seen on him before. So focused, he fumbled with his pants and underwear—a wonderful pattern of black and blue—only to drop them to the floor without much thought. 

I tried. I did my best not to gape, not to stare. But I couldn’t help myself. Jared stood in all his naked glory with an impressive erection as an absent-minded hand smoothed over his stomach. I had been right. Above average, probably eight or so inches, thick, and a slight lean to the left, Jared grasped the base of his cock for a small, short stroke. From there, I struggled to  focus, his deep angular obliques grasping my attention. But then his shoulders tensed, chest and biceps taut as he near the bed, and I bit my bottom lip. 

He knelt beside me, and though he remained silent, his body said all the words he did not speak. His legs entwined with mine as his arms—Jesus Christ, but his arms were fucking huge—wrapped around me, smothered from shoulder to hip, and hauled me back to where I’d sat before, his hips straddled. 

Except the clothes that had kept us apart before lay in a heap on the floor. Skin on skin, the hardened length of Jared’s cock parted my lips with a roll of my hips, and time crawled to a stop. The sting of his fingernails bit into my hips as he grabbed me, his own hips rolling, grinding. God, but I hoped it might never end, that I would feel him forever and never want for anything else. 

But Jared wanted more. With a snap of his hips, I pitched forward and he pinned me to his chest. One arm held me tight as he grasped himself with the other and angled his cock to my cunt. The firm press of the swollen head parted me, then slipped inside. 

My muted moan drowned his softer sigh as Jared rolled his hips, one long, slow stroke sheathing himself inside me. “Holy shit, Jared, you feel so fucking good.” 

A bemused laugh hummed through his nose before he spoke. “We’re just getting started. Wait until—” 

The faint click of his hotel room door barely registered before I heard a familiar voice. “Jared? You pass out already man?” 

No. There was no way. I looked Jared in the eye as I whispered my panicked suspicion. “Is that Jen—” 

“Jensen?!” Jared called, and I scrambled for the comforter. “What are... what are you doing here? It’s two in the morning!” 

I tossed the sheets over us both before the stomping boots reached the room. There was no way I could look at Jensen at that moment. I buried my face in the crook of Jared’s neck and hoped to God he’d take care of it. 

“Hey, man, you okay?” 

Jared wrapped his arms around me, pinning me to his chest once more. “Don’t—dude, don’t come in here.” 

Jensen’s footfalls stopped near the door, and a second of silence followed before he spoke. “Oh. Oh shit...” 

“Yeah, oh shit, what the hell, dude?!” 

Jensen stuttered as slow steps back, a soft boot thumping to the floor. “I—I just thought you might still be awake, wanted to see if you were up for drink.” 

“Um... yeah, I’m a little busy,” Jared replied. 

I swore I heard Jensen laugh. “I can tell,” he called. Another beat of silence preceded his laughter as he asked, “Do I get to meet her tomorrow?” 

“I swear to God, dude.” 

“Alright, fine, I’m leaving!” 

When the door shut, Jared threw the covers off and heaved a breath. “I am so sorry—” 

His words clipped short as I kissed him, and Jared sighed a moan so desperate, I nearly wept. His tongue and lips reminded me of what it was that I had wanted that night. But before I returned to that mission, I parted from him and spoke. “So, will you introduce me to him tomorrow?” 

Jared laughed as he kissed me in return, then whispered against my lips. 

“Only if you’re a good girl for me tonight.” 


	3. Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I barely make it to the Sunday morning Gold panel on time.

The morning had started off less than romantic with my phone sounding an alarm at seven o’clock.

“What... what is that?”

I slapped my phone haphazardly and stopped the alarm. “Bach’s Cello Suite in G.”

Insistent fingers teased my hips as Jared reached for me. “Sounded familiar.”

“I’m pretty sure most phones come with it installed,” I said with a laugh, “What are you doing? I have to get in the shower.”

The wet warmth of his kisses trailed along my shoulder and up my neck to my ear where he whispered, “Stay a few minutes?”

“I really need to get going, I don’t want to be late to the gold panel.” When Jared laughed, the silliness of my statement sunk in. “Okay, I get it, the panel won’t start without you, but it won’t wait for me, and as much as I want to lay here with you all morning, I can’t. We need to get your runner to my room to get my shit.”

“Oh, fuck, that’s right,” he mumbled against my skin and I shivered. One large hand slipped over my hip and dipped between my thighs. “I’ll call them right away, write down your hotel and room number?”

Had I been capable of responding, I’d have done so, but between Jared’s fingers parting my lips, his mouth on my skin, and his rock hard cock grinding against my ass, I blanked. Surely, we had a few minutes to indulge. Right? Had to wait for the runner anyway.

“Jeanna?”

I squirmed away from him for the bedside table and grabbed a pen and paper. “Here.”

He made the phone call quick, but not without a distracted breath or two. If he could tease me into confusion, then the least I could do was return the favor. I crawled back into the bed and lay beside him, bodies flush. His first stuttered word followed the tips of my fingers as I teased his hip. Drawn along the angle of his oblique, I reached his cock and it twitched as I grasped him. He sighed with the first stroke, eyes squeezed shut to concentrate. Then his phone landed on the nightstand where he tossed it aside, the call finished in a rush of confirmation.

The growl of frustration that rumbled deep in his chest crashed a tidal wave of arousal straight to my cunt as his tightly controlled strength forced me to my stomach, and he straddled my hips. “Tease.”

“You like it,” I quipped with a coy wink over my shoulder. “What are you gonna—”

Rough fingers pried at my flesh as Jared spread me, then pressed the tip of his cock to my pussy. I cried out, shock, pain, and pleasure all rolled into one thrilling sensation “Oh, don’t act surprised, you knew what I was doing.”

“Yeah,” I moaned, “but you still liked it.”

The pleased hum that sang through his nose filled me with life. “I did,” he sighed. “You know me better than you think.”

A slow, subtle roll of is hips stroked the tip of his cock barely an inch inside me. “Fuck, you know what I like, too. Tease.”

Jared continued his subdued play with short thrusts of his hips. Pleasured sighs fell from his lips as his mouth gaped, and his half-lidded eyes stared. “God, it’s so hot. You look damn good wrapped around my cock.”

I writhed beneath him, unable to sit still any longer. Jared was right. I enjoyed his teasing, but only for so long.. With my back arched, I raised my hips to his and enveloped the length of his cock in one smooth push.

Filled, I cried out a long, high moan as Jared whimpered. His hands grasped my hips with a slap as he held me still, and another deep groan rolled through his chest. “Holy shit, you feel so damn good on me. Even better the second time.”

When I tried to pull away from him, Jared held me fast. “We don’t have a lot of time,” I insisted. “Fuck me.”

Without a word of dissent, he obeyed. First, a long slow stroke nearly withdrew him from me, but a sharp snap of his hips sheathed him once more. And then he set his pace, hips thrusting a steady rhythm. Over my shoulder, I watched. The sight of him towering over me and fucking me left me dizzy with want. Want for more, more of him, all of him.

Time ceased to exist, minutes seeming to stretch. When he sped up, hips driving his cock into my cunt, my end neared. Coiled so tightly, that bundle of ecstasy bubbled to the surface, reaching a fever pitch as Jared pumped into me. Lewd strings of profanity fell from our lips as he too neared his end, and Jared leaned down to my ear to whisper. “Come for me, Jeanna.”

I’d hoped to hold off a little longer, to time my release with his. But when Jared’s hand slipped over my hip and between my thighs once more, withstanding that touch proved impossible. Nimble fingers circled my clit, coupled with his furious pounding of my cunt. Mere seconds shoved me over the edge, that coil of arousal bursting apart at the seams as I came undone.

Staggered thrusts followed, and the hard, heavy flexes of his cock preceded the warmth of his cum as Jared came. The walls of my pussy clenched in the aftershocks of my own release, and he gasped, short, breathless praises murmured into my neck as he leaned over me.

“That…” he sighed, “was one hell of a quickie.”

When I opened my mouth to respond, a knock at the hotel door interrupted my thought. “Shit. Can you get it, I’m gonna—” I pointed to the bathroom.

“Yeah, go, I’ll grab your things,” he said. But before he moved, he planted a hard kiss on my lips.

Parted, I pushed him back. “Go, dude, I gotta get in the shower or I’m gonna be late.”

With a short breath of his ridiculous laugh, Jared hopped from the bed, grabbed his underwear from the floor, and disappeared down the hallway.

The remainder of the morning passed in a blur. Shower, hair, and makeup all took longer than I’d hoped, and Jared had to leave for breakfast before I was remotely close to ready. It was then, alone in his hotel room, that my mind ran wild with all the ways shit might go wrong. He would forget about me. I mean, why would he even bother trying? There were plenty of women in his line of work far more interesting than me. And he could just about have his pick of them. What did I have to offer that they didn't?

By the time I was finishing my makeup, I received a text.

 _I promise we’ll talk at the end of the day. I’ll let your VIP liaison know_. _Don’t leave without me._

I wasn’t about to hold my breath. Over the course of two hours, I’d prepared myself for the worst. The convention would end. I’d linger in the hall until I got kicked out. And Jared would already be on a plane back to Vancouver.

Another text message came in.

_Show me your face!_

I took the worst selfie in the history of selfies and sent it.

Another chime from my phone followed me out of Jared’s room. I shifted my backpack and suitcase to look at my phone.

_Sorry, that was Jensen, he stole my phone. He didn’t see your picture, don’t worry._

Great. I did my best to put our time together in the back of my mind as I left the hotel and headed back to the convention center. By the time I got back to my car, dropped off my luggage, and dashed into the theater, I made it to my seat with seconds to spare.

I tore my camera from my bag and pieced it together in time for Jared and Jensen to walk on stage, smiling and waving. Burst mode took pictures as fast as my shutter speed allowed. And though I tried, the only thing I could think about was the time I’d spent with Jared. I vaguely remember them talking about their Saturday—no mention of Jensen walking in on us, thank god—Jensen’s sore knee from running, and how much they enjoy Minneapolis and the convention center’s theater. My camera shutter never stopped. I wanted to capture as many moments as possible. And sitting so close, with my rented lens, I took some phenomenal images.

To this day, I am still mad I did not get to eat one of those cupcakes. The pictures made up for it. Mostly.

As I reviewed an array of images, I noticed something in them. Jared scanned the theater as Jensen answered questions. He did it damn near every question, first answering, then sweeping stage left to stage right and back again. By the fifth question, my stomach plummeted.

He was searching for me. He was looking for me and I was hiding behind my obnoxiously large camera lens.

_Shit._

I contemplated on waving but thought better of it. If he saw me and waved back, people might get the wrong idea.

Except it wasn’t the wrong idea. It was the truth.

I desperately wanted to wave, to put his mind at ease. But I followed my better judgement. I’d see him again later. Despite everything I wanted in that moment, I remained hidden behind my camera.


	4. Meet and Greet, Take 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet and Greet with Jared.

VIP had been an absolute blessing that weekend. The convenience alone validated every penny I’d spent. After the gold panel had wrapped, I grabbed a cup of coffee and headed down to the VIP room to drop off my bags. When I sat down to take a load off my still sore feet, I checked my phone to find I had lost track of time; the gold panel had run a little long. Jared’s meet and greet would start in a few minutes.

As I stared at the ticket in front of me, I debated on skipping it. Which was ridiculous of me. I spent a silly amount of money on it, nearly as much as VIP. And leading up to the convention, I had eagerly looked forward to it. But after last night, and especially this morning, a small voice in the back of my mind drudged up every possible way it might go wrong.

“Who has Jared’s meet and greet?”

Sara, my VIP liaison, waited by the door of the VIP room. When I stood and held up my ticket, she waved me over. “We gotta go, they’re starting in three.”

I rushed to her with my ticket and we left the room. Numb dread tingled in my toes and fingers as we walked down the hall to the meet and greet room, no more than fifty paces away. I’d never done any sort of meet and greet before, so when Sara left me at the door, I wasn’t expecting to draw a number out of an envelope.

The woman handling admission held out the large envelope and I withdrew a small, square piece of yellow construction paper with the number six printed on it. She motioned me in, and I searched for my seat. I didn’t look long. In fact, I never saw the number on the back of the chair. Twenty seats. Two rows, ten each. I drew number six.

Front row.

Dead center.

And ten feet ahead sat a bar stool.

Most of the seats had already filled in. When I took mine, I looked around for a familiar face, for anyone I’d met the previous day, but I recognized no one. A sickly sense of dread filled my stomach as we waited, exacerbated by that small voice in the back of my head. He’d see me and instantly recognize me. I hoped to God he wouldn’t react, lest everyone else grow suspicious. I hoped he’d simply ignore me. I even resolved to forego my question and just keep my eyes glued to my feet.

But then the door in the room divider opened, and my head whipped to the near corner. Jared stepped over the threshold as he looked at his phone. A brief glance at the group greeted us but before he took a good look, he returned to his phone. At his chair, he spun it half way around, then straddled the seat and apologized for his rudeness.

“Damn phones. Sorry. How ya’ll doin’?”

My anxiety ebbed in those first few seconds. In that span, I had hoped he simply did not recognize me. Both bars were poorly lit, and even his room had been quite dim. In VIP, brilliant fluorescent lights illuminated the room. Maybe he’d forgotten about me. I’d imagined him searching for me during the gold panel. As I had suspected the night before, our time together had been nothing more than a one-night-stand. As much as that realization hurt, it was better than the alternative. At least, that was how I’d felt in that initial moment.

And then his eyes found mine.

I couldn’t help but smile as he stuttered, his entire thought process fled screeching to a halt in the middle of his response. It lasted for one interstitial millisecond, microscopic in space and time. Recognition flashed bright as the sun in his wide eyes, then faded as fast. As if nothing had happened, he picked up his thought and finished answering the question.

That would be the only moment in the entire half-hour that he fucked up. His easy smile and cackling laughter emboldened me such that within the last five minutes, I managed to ask my question. And as much as I’d love to tell you about it, I won’t betray the convention’s trust.

They let us linger a few minutes past the half-hour, but convention staff eventually dragged Jared off for his duo photo op with Jensen. When the staff ushered us out, I lagged behind, overwhelmed by the experience and unsteady on my feet. I turned for the door after the last person passed me but stopped short when I heard my name.

“Jeanna?”

Over my shoulder I looked to find a convention staff member approaching me. In her sharp suit and with perfectly coiffed hair, she radiated a confidence I adored. “I’m Jeanna.”

“Here,” she said as she held out a small piece of paper folded in half. After she checked that the others were out if earshot, she said, “He asked me to give you this.”

I took the paper and flipped it open. An angular hand had scrawled a short message:

_Lucky girl, front and center. See you in photo ops. Don’t leave without me tonight._

“Are you… this is a joke, right?” I stated.

The woman shook her head as she turned back for the divider door. “I watched him write it, sweetheart. And if I were you, I’d do what he says.”


	5. Bang a Gong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Photo op

Three of us in VIP had Jared’s solo photo op. And oddly enough, we’d all worn buffalo plaid that day. In fact, Sunday seemed to be buffalo plaid and _Always Keep Fighting or Love Yourself First_ day at the convention. I’d paired my red and black flannel with my black _Love Yourself First_ tee, and I wasn’t the only one.

We’d joked about it in VIP earlier that morning, even took pictures of the three of us. And when it came time for Jared’s photo op, early that afternoon, I had half a mind to ditch it and only go in my t-shirt. But my VIP liaison convinced me not to.

“Just keep it on.”

I looked to her as I handed her my op ticket. “I dunno, I don’t want—”

“Trust me,” Sara said as she led us to the photo op room. “Keep the plaid on.”

“Do you know something I don’t?” I asked.

To the front of the line she escorted us. Sara turned to me and said, “He said to make sure you kept it on. He loves it. I don’t know what you did or said in his meet and greet or the gold panel, but he sent someone to tell me that so I could tell you.”

“Are you serious?”

Sara nodded. “I have no clue how he knew you’d waffle on it, but he did.”

He knew because I’d waffled on it that morning in his hotel room. But I wasn’t about to say that out loud.

“Meet us back in VIP for lunch, food will be there soon,” Sara said as she left.

Alone in line, I was left with my thoughts. Two messages in as many hours. And yet, I scarcely believed it. As my mind battled that internal conflict, a song slipped through the fog and snapped me back to reality.

 _Well you’re dirty and sweet_  
Clad in black  
Don’t look back  
And I love you  
You’re dirty and sweet oh yeah

Of all the songs to play as my turn for my photo came up, _Bang a Gong_ fit far too well. That bass groove and guitar riff set a rhythm in my hips that I couldn’t resist. And so, I danced. I can’t dance. But I danced my best terrible white girl dance as I walked up to Jared.

When our eyes met, his entire face lit up brighter than the sun. That gleam of knowing radiated in his gaze as it had in his meet and greet, but he let it linger. Nobody would notice. At least, I hoped nobody would. They would be too distracted by Jared mocking my dancing.

He took my hand without a word and pulled me in for a tight hug before he leaned into my ear and said, “I missed you.”

“Oh, c'mon, now my face is all red,” I groaned.

His devious giggle sent me into a fit of my own as he says, “But you’re so damn cute when you blush.”

“Stop!” I insisted as I laughed harder. “Now I don’t know what to do.”

He laughed, too as he widened his stance—practically doing the splits for me—and wrapped me in his arms. “Just relax. You look absolutely stunning.”

 _You’re dirty sweet_  
And you’re my girl  
Get it on  
Bang a gong  
Get it on

The flash of Chris’s camera blinded me, an indelible spot marring my vision. I held Jared tighter for a second as he said, “Seriously, don’t leave without me tonight. Clif will find you after I’m done with autos.”

“Are you sure?” I asked as I parted from him.

Every concern I'd had that day fled at the sight of Jared's reassuring smile. “Positive.”


	6. What Happens In VIP Stays In VIP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autographs after VIP

I wish I could tell the story of Jared’s ten-minute meet and greet. But I can’t. The only thing I can remotely get away with is that I sat next to him. And when you sit beside Jared Padalecki, you quickly learn he has no concept of personal space.

But I already knew that. I think he does it on purpose.

What I can tell you about the end of my Sunday involved autographs. The most underrated perk of VIP is skipping the lines. I'm not much for standing in line, not with my shitty knee. So, when the time came for the final round of autographs, I went to Jensen's first for a very specific reason.

As I headed up the escalator, the memory of the previous night flooded my mind. Given Jensen's ten-minute meet and greet, it became apparent that Jared had not informed him that the person he had been with was at the con at all, let alone VIP. When I rounded the corner, I spotted him at the table, signing items as they were handed to him.

I waited a few people, then hopped into the head of the line. As much as I appreciated that part of VIP, I felt like the biggest asshole cutting ahead of everyone. But the convention staff smiled when they asked for my item to be signed. I handed over my J2 photo op from the previous year, and she passed it along to him.

Jensen looked first at the picture, then at me and smiled. He was too pretty by half, with his green eyes and a killer grin. For a second, I forgot where I stood, ensorcelled by his intense stare.

When he remained silent, impulse grappled for control. I held out my hand and introduced myself. “Jeanna. With a J.”

“Jensen with a J,” he jested as he shook my hand. “To what do I owe the honor?”

I leaned in to the table and lowered my voice as I said, “You asked Jared if you would get to meet me today…”

The gradual fall of his smile followed the slack in his handshake and understanding bloomed in his eyes. “That was… you were…”

“I was,” I said as I released his hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

His face had turned a shade of crimson I’d never seen on him before. “Look, can I make it up to you? Somehow? I feel terrible.” Then his eyes popped as he gasped. “Oh lord, all that shit I said in VIP!”

“Sh!”

“Sorry. Here,” he said as he handed back my picture. Under his breath he added, “We’ll talk later. Don’t leave.”

“I’m not,” I replied, “he wants me to stick around, too.”

A master at the craft, Jensen masked his emotions with a smile and a wink as the next item was passed to him. I left the room lightheaded and guilty, worried I’d made a mistake. I hoped Jared wouldn’t be upset.

When I went to his room for his autograph—on my shiny, new solo op with him that could not have turned out better—my nerves returned in full. I all but shivered as I waited to sneak into the head of the line with my sweaty palms and tingling feet.

Reality silenced my rambling thoughts when I realized I stood in front of Jared, our picture in his hands.

“Hey, darlin’.”

I gaped for a second that stretched so uncomfortably before I muttered, “I just talked to Jensen.”

I had expected him to ignore my words, or at most, acknowledge them with a stern look, then sign my picture and send me on my way.

Never in a thousand years would I have anticipated Jared throwing his head back and clutching his stomach as he cackled. Infectious, I laughed with him, relieved. Not just relieved but overjoyed by his reaction. When he wiped the tears from his face and his laughter subsided, he asked, “What did he say? Man, I wish I could have seen the look on his face.”

“I wish I’d had my camera,” I said, still laughing. “It was priceless.”

“Ah, shit. Oh well,” he said as he handed my picture back. “Wait for me after?”

“I will,” I said, “I have to go get Misha’s auto.”

“Oh, I see how it is, save the best for last?” he jested as I started for the door.

“Nope, I forgot to get it yesterday.”

Jared’s cackling laughter followed me all the way to the auditorium door.


	7. Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making decisions.

The line for autographs dwindled over the hour, and most people headed for home once they had their last pictures signed. In my chair, I slumped on a table, lids heavy with sleep. After such a long day and too little rest the night before, I wondered how I had managed to stay upright. I had nearly fallen asleep there, slipped into that liminal space between states of consciousness, when calloused warmth covered my hands.

“Jeanna? Are you…”

I cracked one eye open, blinded by the florescent lights, and found Clif towing over me. “What's… what time is it?”

“Little after 10,” he said a he looked at his watch. “Truck is in back, you ready?”

I stood and gathered my bag as I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my palm. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere, yet,” he said as he turned for a rear exit. “But he wants to talk with you before we leave.”

Leave. The end had finally arrived. Jared would go back to Vancouver. And then the marathon in Seattle right after Thanksgiving. A couple weeks later would be Jacksonville. Then winter break and the holidays.

Meanwhile, my life would return to normal. I’d drive the half-hour back home, crawl into bed, and pass out. Tomorrow, I’d mope around the house by myself all day. Tuesday, I’d go back to work and accomplish nothing as I relived every moment that I had shared with him. Thursday, I’d watch the latest episode. And by Friday, I’ll have polished off the remaining half of a bottle of scotch in an attempt to forget the entire weekend.

The metallic clang of a rear service door scattered my thoughts. Clif held it aside as I exited the building, sharp November air catching in my throat. Not fifty yards away sat a shiny black SUV, idling and otherwise inconspicuous but for its location. Over my shoulder I looked to Clif and he motioned me onward towards the vehicle.

I remained two steps outside of the convention center, boots fused to the cement. Everything about the situation screamed heartbreak. I knew better, had known better. There was absolutely no way this would work over any kind of distance for any length of time. Not that I wanted it to work. I had never wanted to get more attached to him than I already was. The best thing for me then would have been to go home and forget anything had ever happened between us.

Despite those thoughts, their endless cacophony of anxiety and anguish, I placed one foot in front of the other. Left. Then right. Then left again. Eventually I stood beside the black SUV and reached with a tentative hand. Point of no return. No going back.

With a deep breath, I knocked on the window.

The door swung wide and Jared all but leaped from the truck, clad in his grey plaid and grey beanie. Without a word, he scooped me up in his arms, and held me tight to his chest. I clung to him, face buried in the crook of his neck, terrified to let him go. He smothered me in kisses, neck and cheek and lips until satisfied.

“I was worried you’d left,” he started as he set me back on my feet.

“I… I won’t lie, I almost did,” I admitted, “several times. Jared, I don’t—”

“Stop,” he interrupted. “Before you go any further, I want to tell you something. I never planned on this. Of all the people to fall for, a fan was the absolute last on my list. But it happened. And I don’t regret it. I am so glad we met. I want to see you again. Soon.”

I wanted to see him again, too. Tomorrow. And the next day. I wanted to wake up beside him every day like I had earlier that morning. But to do that, I’d have to sacrifice everything. Besides, did he even want that? Or was it just some casual fling he wanted to hang on to for a little while and drop in a few weeks? “I want to see you again, too,” I started, “but I can’t… I can’t half-ass this.”

“I don’t want you to. I don’t want to,” he agreed. “But I realize that means you’ll have to make some major changes in your life.”

Thank Christ he understood. “Can we… dammit, dude, I want this so bad, but I can’t just quit my job and move. I don’t want to sit around all day and do nothing while you work.”

Jared curled a stray lock of my hair behind my ear. “And I love that about you. Your drive and dedication are admirable,” he paused, a thoughtful look in his eye. “I bet we could find you a gig on the crew.”

“Doing what?” I asked. “I only like to think I know how film works.”

“You could start as a runner or an assistant,” Jared started, “but I’d make a case for you to be an extra at the very least.”

“That sounds like a recipe for disaster,” I said, then imitated him, “Hey, Dabb, I fucked this girl on the con circuit and feel like I owe her. Can you put her in a tiny walk-on role so she doesn’t sue me?”

Jared reared back at that with a righteous glare, and I knew I’d gone too far. “Do you really think so poorly of me?”

“No,” I growled, “but that’s what other people would think! Especially once they find out that we’re together.”

_Together._

The word was out of my mouth before I had even though to say it. And Jared smiled, damn him, with his dimples and lips and scruff. “You knew what I meant,” I grumbled.

He ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Yes, I did,” he paused. “We can find something for you to do, something you’re comfortable with.”

Maybe. It might work. “Jensen knows,” I stated.

“And he won’t say shit,” Jared said with a firm upper lip. “He’s got my back, and he’ll have yours, too.”

Damn, he was making it too easy. “And I’ll just… live with you?”

“Yeah, my apartment in Vancouver has plenty of space for us both,” he mused with a coy smirk as he wrapped his arms around me once more. “But I can’t wait to show you Austin.”

“You’re dead serious, aren’t you?” I asked.

“Of course, I am,” he said, “I don’t take this sort of thing lightly. I know I’m asking so much of you, so I’m trying to make it as easy as possible. But you have to decide what you want.”

I know. It should have been an easy decision to make. But in that moment, for whatever reason, I struggled. To me, it felt like the most pivotal decision I’d ever made in my entire life. Resolve straightened my spine as I looked up into his eyes. “I want you. I want to be with you.”

His smile rivaled summer sunshine, irresistible, infectious, and a smile of my own spread across my lips. “We’ll make this work,” he said, “I promise. We can give it a try for a few months first. I’ll fly you out to Vancouver and Austin whenever you want. Then, when you’re ready, we can make a bigger commitment. How does that sound?”

“To be honest,” I started, “it sounds insane. I… I still don’t quite believe this is happening. I mean, I’m standing outside of the Minneapolis Convention center three days shy of my thirty-second birthday, and Jared Padalecki is asking me to—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Jared interrupted, “your birthday is next week?”

“Uh, yeah, on the eighth,” I said, “why?”

A long silent moment passed as Jared stared at me, and another clear, thoughtful gleam brightened in his eye. “Do you think you could take a week off work?”

“What?”

“Come with us to Vancouver.”

As crazy as it sounded, I needed a vacation. I hadn’t taken one in years. And work? Yeah, fuck that place. “Are you sure? How—”

“There’s room on the plane, yet.”

A week in Vancouver. “What will I do while you’re working?”

“There’s plenty to do in town. I can show you around the set, too,” he assured. “You won’t be bored, I promise.”

It was happening all too fast and the obstacles raced through my head. “Jared, I need to pack, I gotta get my car home yet, and I’m sure the flight takes off soon—”

“We’ve got plenty of time, Jeanna. Come with me.”

I know you hate me. You’re screaming at your screen, “Go, you dumbass, what the hell is wrong with you?!” But I hesitated. Again. All the implications and logistics and planning complicated matters so thoroughly, my stomach churned merely thinking about it.

“Jeanna? Are you—”

Impulsive. Despite all my anxiety, my impulsive streak raced into overdrive. I flew into his arms and my lips landed on his. Jared laughed into me as he returned the kiss, arms wrapped around me so tight my ribs strained against his strength. For one endless moment, I forgot every concern I’d had that day. We drifted in a sea of possibilities, illuminated by pale streetlights and oblivious to the world. But that world encroached in the form of a cleared throat interrupting our moment.

Jared returned me to my feet, and I looked over my shoulder to find Clif grinning ear to ear. “I lied. You’re coming to the airport with us.”

“How did you know?” I asked as Jared ushered me into the truck and slid in beside me.

Clif hopped in behind the wheel and started the engine. “Because I watched the two of you talk for two hours straight and I have never seen Jared look at someone the way he looked at you.”

In the seat beside me, I found Jared’s shadowed gaze illuminated by the dashboard light, his small smile brilliant despite the darkness.

Once more, Clif interrupted the moment. “ _That_ look.”

As the SUV pulled away from convention center, I laughed so hard, my stomach hurt. Jared shook his head as he avoided my eyes, his embarrassed grin hidden behind his palm covering his face.

In an hour, I’d be headed to the airport.

In a little more than five hours, I’d be curled up in bed beside Jared, fast asleep.

And in the morning, my entire life would change.


End file.
